


chardee macdennis iii: thirty minutes in hell

by golden_geese



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: CharDee MacDennis, Other, aka mac and dennis are accidentally married but still in a weird vauge relationship, basically none of this is a good idea, body image issues, charlie is trans but its not a big deal, definitely don't huff gas, don't do ANY of this please, inhalant use, starlight starcrossed verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-05 15:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16370204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_geese/pseuds/golden_geese
Summary: mac is sick of losing. mac will only play if the twins are split up. when it's twin against twin, there will most likely be blood.this fic is in the universe of my multi-chapter fic "starlight, starcrossed", but that fic is not required reading to enjoy this one by any means.i made physical game cards (in the four characters' handwriting) to go along with this fic. if you want to read the version that features the cards, check out golden-geese.tumblr.com/chardeemacdennis3





	1. 3pm, a tuesday

3pm  
A Tuesday

Mac sighed, closing the app game he’d been playing on his phone. That shit was only interesting for about five seconds at a time.

He surveyed the bar. Three regulars in a corner, Charlie and Frank jabbering about something in a booth, Dennis unpacking a box of limes, Dee frowning at her phone in concentration from the next seat over. 

“Dee,” Mac said.

“What?” She asked, not looking up from her phone.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“None of your business.”

“Aw, come on. Tell me. I’m so bored.”

“Dude, I’m bored too,” Dennis said, flattening the cardboard box. “I mean, look at me. Unpacking limes.”

“You must be desperate,” Mac noted.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m busy,” Dee insisted.

“Doing what?”

“None of your business,” she said again.

“It’s my business, though, because you’re my sister and we’re twins,” Dennis said, wiping his hands on the towel by the sink.

“Mmm, it’s really not.”

“Dee,” Mac whined. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” Dennis asked. “What are you doing? What are you doing?”

Mac joined in. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?”

“Dee, what are you doing?”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Okay, okay, boners, both of you shut up,” she snapped. “I’m on level twenty five of Toon Blast. I keep running out of turns when I have like three bubbles left to pop.”

“Oh,” Mac said, grimacing a little. “That’s boring as shit.”

Dee ignored him, going back to her game.

“That is boring, man,” Dennis agreed, sighing. “We gotta… think of something to do. Steal something or call the waitress pretending to be Charlie or go to a water park or something.”

“It’s winter, dude. It’s cold.”

Dennis sighed again, bowing his head, tossing the rag onto the bar. “Well, Mac, what do you want to do then?”

“I don’t know,” he whined, shoving his hair back with his hands even though it was gelled down. “I’m so goddamn bored.”

Dee looked up from her phone. “Bored? Dennis-- bored is why we invented Chardee Macdennis.”

His lips pulled back a little. He got that glint in his eyes. “Yes. You’re right, Dee. Let’s play Chardee Macdennis.”

“I dunno, guys,” Mac exhaled. “Last time Charlie ended up in the hospital and Frank drugged us all.”

“So Frank isn’t allowed to play anymore,” Dennis said, shrugging. “His flag’s a swastika anyway.”

Mac nodded slowly, but his eyebrows were still knitted. “I’ll play,” he said, “but only on one condition.”

Dennis and Dee exchanged a glance. “What?”

“We have to switch teams this time.”

“What? No!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea at all!”

“Come on, guys. You two always win. Me and Charlie always lose. How is that even fun for you?” Mac pleaded.

“Uh, because, Mac, winning is fun,” Dennis said, scoffing a little. 

“Yeah, dum-dum. We’re not going to get tired of winning.”

“Don’t you want more of a challenge?” He asked. “Wouldn’t you guys have more fun if you played against each other?”

Dennis’ eyes narrowed as he regarded his sister. “You know, Dee-- he may have a point. We can see which of us is the weaker link.”

She smirked. “We already know which one of us is the weaker link. You.”

“How confident are you about that, hmm?”

Her eyes narrowed too. Mac glanced back and forth between the twins, watching them stare at each other. For a second, he wondered if they were actually going to rip each others’ throats open.

“Okay,” Dee finally said. “I’m in. What are the new teams?”

“Let’s do it by the name,” Mac said. “Chardee and Macdennis.”

“Who gets Frank?” Dee asked, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder toward Frank and Charlie’s booth.

“No one gets Frank,” Mac said, making a face. “Frank is disqualified.”

“I agree, he tried to kill us last time,” Dennis said.

“Yeah-- okay. You’re right. Frank’s out. Hey, Charlie!” Dee shouted.

“What?” He called back.

“C’mere, we’re gonna play Chardee Macdennis.”

“I dunno, guys,” Charlie said, but he made his way over to the bar anyway. “Last time I think I almost died and the waitress said a lot of mean stuff to me.”

“You stand a chance of winning, though,” Mac said, “because you’re gonna be with Dee this time.”

Charlie recoiled a little bit. “I’m gonna be with Dee?”

“Who’m I gonna be with?” Frank asked, climbing onto a bar stool.

“No one, dipshit, you’re disqualified,” Dee said. 

“What? No! Me?”

“You poisoned us last time, bro,” Mac pointed out. “You’re gonna sit this one out.”

“I don’t believe this. That’s discrimination. Mac, you’re my son in law. Take pity on me.”

“Ew, no, he’s not your son in law, because you’re not my real dad, remember?” Dennis said. 

“But I raised your ungrateful asses.”

Dennis and Dee exchanged a disgusted look. “You were in Vietnam all the time, and when you were at home, you were being a dick to us,” she said. 

“Mom raised us,” Dennis added.

“Hmm, did she though?” Dee interjected. 

“Whatever. Point is, Frank, you’re out and that’s final.”

“But I gotta be with Dee?” Charlie interjected

“I’m the one who should be complaining here,” Dee said.

“Just for this one time, Charlie,” Dennis added. “Just to shake things up. To see which of us is the weaker link.”

“To confirm that Dennis is the weaker link,” Dee amended. 

“No, no, no, Dee, chances are you’re the weakest link out of all of us.”

“Fuck you, Dennis.”

“Fuck you.”

“Guys, guys,” Mac said. “Let’s just get started already. We can figure out which one of you two is the weaker link. We don’t know who it is yet.”

Dennis’ jaw dropped. “Mac Mc-fucking-Donald,” he said. “You’re not going to side with me?”

“Obviously I’m siding with you, dude, I’m just saying. We don’t know who’s gonna win. It kind of depends on the cards we end up with.”

“Yeah,” Charlie agreed.

“The fuck does that mean?” Dee demanded.

“Well-- if it’s physical pain, Dennis will win. If it’s emotional pain, that’s Dee. Sorry, Den, but you’re shit at taking emotional pain. You’re both bad at artistry and you can both be pretty weak when it comes to spirit. It’s really a toss up,” Mac reasoned. “It could go either way.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said again.

“Why did I marry you if you aren’t even on my side, Mac?” Dennis demanded.

“‘Cause you were blackout drunk and I dared you,” Dee pointed out.

“I’m going to throttle you,” Dennis suggested to Dee. “I’m going to destroy you. I’m-- I’m going to ruin you. When I’m finished with you- you- you’ll be a pulp of a person. A pulp, Dee. Then we’ll know exactly who the weaker link is.”

“Let’s get this bitch started before I kill my brother,” Dee said, her eyes still narrowed.

Mac nodded once. “Okay. Frank, you can… be the referee, I guess.”

“Fine,” Frank huffed. “Ungrateful assholes.”

Dee went behind the bar and dragged out the Chardee Macdennis trunk. She began to nail the board down.

“Wait-- our flags don’t apply anymore,” Mac said.

“Dibs on Thundermen,” Charlie immediately shouted.

“No, we will be taking Thundermen, because we are both men,” Mac said.

“We’ll be using the Golden Geese flag, thanks,” Dennis argued, shoving Mac in the arm.

“Ours is cooler, bro!”

“Ours isn’t burnt to a crisp.”

Mac huffed a little. “I like Thundermen better.”

“Golden Geese never lose,” Dennis pointed out.

“I really don’t give a shit,” Dee said. “Do rock paper scissors or something.”

“Frank,” Charlie said, turning to his roommate, “you’re the middle guy. Who gets what flag?”

His lower lip poofed out a little. His thinking face. “Charlie and Dee get Thundermen, Dennis and Mac get Golden Geese.”

“Thank you,” Dennis said.

“Dammit,” Mac mumbled.

Dee finished pounding the board down. “Okay. Same game pieces. Everyone’s on level one. Dennis, I look forward to progressing onto level 2 without you.”

“Dee, you bitch.”

She shrugged, smirking as she put four wine glasses on the counter. She filled each with their cheapest red before coming around the bar.

“Thus, we commence the pre-game wine reception,” Dennis said, picking his glass up.

“Have a wonderful game, sir,” Dee said, holding her glass out to Mac to cheers.

“And you, madam.”

They sipped their wine, cheers-ing and nodding their heads at each other like people who laughed about firm gouda. Then, the buzzer went off.

“Suck my fucking dick,” Dee suggested, staring directly at her brother. 

“I’m going to eat you for breakfast,” Dennis returned.

Everyone chugged their wine, smashed their glasses, and moved onto the flag ceremony.


	2. mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i highly recommend reading this chapter on my tumblr, so you can experience the cards my brother and i made! https://golden-geese.tumblr.com/chardeemacdennis3 please still leave kudos and comments here tho :)

Level One: Mind

Dennis blew out a breath and rolled his shoulders.

“You got this, Den,” Mac said, nodding.

Dennis nodded too, taking a deep breath before he drew the first mind card. He turned it over.

 

“Trivia,” he said. “I wrote this one. What’s Dennis’ licence plate number? Oh, easy, I definitely know this. It’s my car, after all.”

Mac nodded, grinning in encouragement-- but Dennis’ lips thinned.

“C’mon, man, you got this.”

Dennis glanced at Mac. “C… H… K? Six two one?”

“You’re wrong, you’re a number short,” Dee said quickly. “We get to guess.” She glanced toward Charlie.

“Oh, I know what it is,” Charlie said easily. “CHR- zero four six two.”

“Ayyy-oh! That’s what I’m talking about!” Dee held up her hand to high-five Charlie.

“Is that right?” Mac asked frantically.

Dennis ripped the post-it note off the card. “No,” he said. “The four and six are mixed up.”

“He’s lying, I can see it,” Frank shouted.

“God dammit, Frank,” Mac huffed. Dennis tossed the card. It fluttered back down onto the table, where Dee snatched it. 

“Ha! Charlie was right! CHR - zero four six two! You cheated, Dennis! Ha!”

“Fuck you both,” Dennis said, nodding, eyebrows up. “And you too, Frank. God dammit.”

Dee and Charlie claimed the card, and Mac and Dennis chugged their wine.

“Okay, our turn,” Charlie said, reaching into the box and plucking a card out.

 

“Wow hat… he c…” Charlie frowned at the card, brows furrowed. “This one’s not in English.”

“It’s in English, Charlie, you just can’t read,” Dee said, snatching it. “Oh. Mac wrote this one. Who has the creepiest chode? The answer is Carrot Top.”

“No it’s not,” Mac insisted, but she was already moving the blue sticky note off the index card.

 

“Ha! Two for me and Charlie!” She held her palm up to high five him. After a confused second, he did it.

“Whatever, Mac and I will get the next three,” Dennis insisted. “Go ahead, Mac.”

“No puzzles, no puzzles, no puzzles,” Charlie began to chant.

“No, dude, we aren’t on the same team,” Mac said.

“I still don’t want you to have a puzzle,” Charlie said, frowning a tiny bit.

“...Thanks, Charlie.” He pulled the card out and huffed. “Dammit. It’s a puzzle.”

 

“Make two cosmopolitans without looking at the recipe, losing team chugs,” Dennis read over Mac’s shoulders. “We can do this, Mac. I’m the bartender anyway. I can make a cosmopolitan. Easy. Let’s go.” He nodded shortly, standing up.

“Wait, is it an all play?”

“Dammit, Charlie, you can’t ask questions!” Dee groaned loudly, pushing her hair off her face.

“Ha! Chug for five seconds,” Dennis said gleefully.

“Being on a team with Dee is throwing me off,” Charlie said, sulking a little. 

“It’s not an all play, we just make the drinks and you guys chug them if we get it right,” Mac said. “Anyway-- onnnnnnnnne…..… twooooooooooooooo….... threeeeeeeeeeeee….. foooooooooooooour….. fiiiiiiiiiiive.”

They emptied their glasses, both cringing a little after as the wine made its way down.

“Let’s make ourselves a perfect cosmopolitan, Mac,” Dennis said, smirking. He touched Mac’s shoulder as he stood up, and the two headed behind the bar.

“Dude, I have no idea,” Mac murmured to him once they were far enough away.

“Relax. I got this one.” He grabbed a cocktail glass, the bottle of citrus vodka, the cointreau, the lime juice, and the cranberry juice, along with a thin slice of lime for garnish. 

“I’m watchin’,” Frank said, hopping up on a bar stool with the game card in his hands. He ripped off the sticky notes to reveal the recipe, shielding it with his hand so only he could see it. “Okay-- go ahead.”

“First is an ounce and a half of citrus vodka,” Dennis said, measuring it out. He dumped it into the glass. “Then, we have one ounce of cointreau… half an ounce of lime juice… and a dash of cranberry. Garnished with a nice thin slice of lime.” He set the drink up on the bar with a flourish and quickly made a second. “What you’re looking at are two perfect cosmopolitans.”

“He’s right,” Frank said. “He got it. Even in the right order. Dee and Charlie, you gotta drink.”

“I’m going to punch you in your goddamn face,” Dee huffed as she and Charlie came to get the drinks.

“And when we say chug,” Dennis began--

“We mean chug.”

Dennis shot a disgusted look at Mac. “Don’t finish my sentences, dude.”

“I felt like we had a thing going.”

Dee and Charlie downed the drinks.

“Okay, my turn,” Dee said once everyone was back at the table, her voice a little thick. She drew.

 

“Dammit, this is a Charlie card. Give me a minute to decipher it. Looks like Mac wrote all play… oh, it’s a puzzle. Braid your teammate’s hair. So whichever team gets a braid all the way down both teammates’ hair first wins.”

Dennis cringed a little, regarding Mac’s gelled-down hair. Mac made a face too.

Dee fished four rubber bands out of the junk drawer. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

“Dammit,” Dennis huffed. “How am I supposed to braid Mac’s hair-- is what I would ask if questions were allowed, but since they aren’t, that… that was a statement.”

“Just pry the pieces out, bro, it’ll work,” Mac said.

“On Frank’s count we start,” Dee said, passing out the rubber bands and going to face Charlie.

“One,” Frank said.

The gang looked at him, eyebrows up, waiting for him to finish counting. He took his time.

“Two. Three.”

Dee’s fingers worked the fastest, but Charlie’s job was the easiest. Dennis could hardly separate out three strands to braid. In the end, Charlie and Dee won.

“We’ll be taking that card,” Dee said, grinning. She flicked her braid out of her eyes-- Charlie had braided a small front section straight down her face. 

“My turn,” Dennis said, murder in his eyes. He ripped the rubber band out of his hair and went back to the box, grabbing a card.

 

“Who slept with Dennis’ prom date,” he read, eyes narrowing. “Oh, Dee, you bitch. You goddamn bitch.”

“I slipped that one in last time we were fixing it,” Dee said gleefully. Her eyes immediately widened. “I mean-- when the box was breaking and I fixed the box. I slipped it in then. New card. You gonna pass on it, Denny, or do you know the answer?”

“You bitch,” he said again, shaking his head. “Of course I know the answer. It’s Mac.” 

He ripped off the sticky note.

 

“That was so long ago, Den, that was like twenty years ago,” Mac said, eyebrows knitted. “And I said I was sorry. Anyway, don’t be mad-- who would have thought, but I was gay back then too. So it doesn’t count.”

“We all would have thought, dick bag,” Dee said gleefully. 

“Well-- at least we won the card,” Mac said.

“Charlie, go,” Dennis said, ignoring Mac.

 

“Okay,” Charlie said, drawing a card. “I think Mac wrote this one. What’s the color for gym?”

“You clearly wrote that, Charlie. Anyway-- the answer is cannonball green,” Dee said. She reached over and took the sticky note off. “Ha! Another card for us.”

 

“My turn,” Mac said, grabbing a card. 

 

“This one’s trivia. Who’s the better looking Reynolds twin? It’s obviously Dennis.” He pulled the sticky note off. “I got it! Den, we got one.”

 

“I don’t remember that card,” Dennis said, clearly a little bit flattered (and completely over the prom date thing). He took it from Mac. “That’s your handwriting. You think I’m the better looking twin?”

“Well, yeah, bro,” Mac said.

“Thanks, man.”

“I’m real sick of your opinions, Ronald,” Dee huffed, taking a sip of her wine.

“Sorry, Dee. It’s the truth.”

“Why can’t I be in the running?” Frank asked. “I’m a Reynolds.”

“You asked a question. Drink. You’re not a twin,” Dennis said. 

“Neither are youse. You’re triplets. You just ate poor Donny in the womb.”

Dennis waved his hand impatiently. 

“Go, Charlie,” Dee said.

Charlie reached for a card. “No puzzles, no puzzles, no puzzles-- arb-- arbi-- arnold. I don’t know Arnold.”

 

“Artistry,” Dee read over his shoulder. “Dennis wrote this one so it’s gotta be stupid. The artist from your team must make a collage from magazine clippings to convey the answer. Uh, both artists are on your guys’ team. Frank?”

“Dennis and Dee are the artists,” Frank decided, nodding once.

The twins took the stack of already-beat-up magazines from the chest and divided it in half, each sitting down with their pile, a glue stick, a piece of paper, and scissors. Charlie, Frank, and Mac watched them work.

“Dude, I have no idea what you’re doing,” Mac said as Dennis glued his third image-- an ad for a tube of mascara-- down.

“Think, Mac, you can figure it out. Anyway I’m not done.”

But as they continued, Dennis’ collage only got more convoluted. Several images, neatly cut out and pasted down-- but none seemed to have anything in common. Mac peered at it, frowning.

“Oh, I know what this is,” Charlie said after looking at Dee’s collage for a few seconds. “Mirror.”

“Yes! Good job, Charlie!” Dee high-fived him.

“Dammit, Mac, how is this not obvious?”

“Why is there a toe nail clipper, Dennis?”

“It’s stuff you do while looking in the mirror,” Dennis insisted.

“You don’t need to look in the mirror to clip your nails,” Mac argued, exasperated.

“Oh, you don’t need to look in the mirror to clip your nails?” Dennis demanded, grabbing Mac’s hand and holding it up. “That would explain your uneven nails.”

“One more card and we beat your asses,” Dee said, grinning.

“We only need one card too, Dee,” Dennis huffed. “We’re all tied up right now.”

“And anyway, it’s our turn to draw,” Mac said. “Go ahead, Den.”

Still scowling, Dennis drew a card.

 

“Decipher a note from Charlie’s mom,” Dennis said.

“Nice broad,” Frank commented lazily.

“This is a good one. Charlie, get the latest note,” Dee said, completely ignoring Frank.

“I dunno why you guys think these are so hard to understand,” Charlie said, going to get the note. “It’s easy.”

“First one to get it correct wins,” Dee said. “Frank, you can compare the notes to the key.”

Mac and Dee sat on either side of the note, each trying to decipher it word by word onto their pages.

“C’mon, you can do it,” Dennis murmured, staring hard at Mac.

“I think Dee can do it, ‘cause she’s a lady,” Charlie suggested, crossing his arms.

“That doesn’t have anything to do with it, dude! You can understand the notes and you’re not a lady,” Mac said, looking up from his paper.

“She’s my mom,” Charlie said. “I got a connection to her. Dee has a connection to her ‘cause they’re both ladies.”

“My sister is no lady.”

“Dennis, you scumbag, I’m a lady,” Dee said. “Fuck you. Asswipe.”

“Focus, okay,” Charlie said, eyes going a little wide. “Focus on the letter, Dee, you bitch.”

“God dammit. I’m focusing.”

“You can do this, Mac.”

“Dennis. Shut up,” Mac said. “I need to focus. Both of you shut up.”

“You know, your mom’s nuts, bro,” Dennis said to Charlie. “Explains a hell of a lot about you, I can tell you that much.”

“Yeah? Well your dad’s Frank.”

“Your dad’s-- who is your dad, again, Charlie? Oh, that’s right. Nobody knows.”

“Fuck you!”

“Guys, guys! Stop arguing for two seconds,” Mac shouted. One of the regulars in the corner glanced over. “Let me solve this damn puzzle. I need to focus. Shut the hell up. Both of you.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Dennis scoffed.

“Stop ruining our chances of winning and I won’t have to tell you what to do!”

“Focus on the damn note!”

“Oh my god, you guys, stop yelling,” Dee yelled.

“Guys, I got it,” Mac said, dropping his pencil. “It says, ‘my gingerbread man, I hope you’re not dead, please come dry off my ceiling, it looks wet.’ I got it.”

“Frank?” Dennis asked, turning toward him.

He was already looking at the key. “I think you got it, Mac.”

“Oh god dammit,” Dee said, throwing her pen across the room.

“Hell yeah, baby! We win!” Grinning, Dennis smacked Mac’s hand.

“Don’t get too cocky, you dickwad. We only have one card left. We can still beat you.”

“Level two,” Mac said, smiling. “Never gotten this far fairly.” 

“Anyway, it’s our turn, so the round isn’t over yet,” Dee said, eyes narrowed and practically boring a hole in Dennis’ cheek. She reached for a card.

 

“All play,” she said. “Artist from each team makes the answer out of papier mache. Dennis.”

“Gladly, sis,” he said, the corner of his lip twitching a little. “I’ll have you begging for mercy.”

“Ew,” she said, making a face. “That’s fucking gross, dude. I’m not one of your sex women.”

Everyone ignored the face Mac made. They started to gather the supplies.

A gluey, papery two hours later, Charlie figured out that the answer was “fire hydrant” before Dennis could, and both teams were moving on to round two.


	3. body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: inhalant use. idk how huffing gasoline works, so i just kind of guessed based on the episode "flowers for charlie"-- please PLEASE don't huff gas, it is VERY dangerous!!   
> content warning: body image issues  
> content warning: the gang is... completely comprised of RECKLESS IDIOTS

Level Two: Body

“Alright, starting level two with an even playing field for the first time ever,” Mac said, setting his beer down. “Is everybody ready?”

“Cheese and tights, dude, just draw the card,” Dennis huffed.

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it.” He reached for the box.

 

“All play,” he read. “Switch clothes with the other member of your team and wear them for the rest of the game. Chug if you complain about fit, style, or cleanliness.”

Dee exhaled hard through her nose, her jaw set. “Monster farmer,” she said.

“Let’s go in the girls’ bathroom, you guys can change in the dudes’,” Charlie said like it was business as usual.

“This excludes shoes, socks, and underwear, right?” Dennis asked.

“As if you and Mac don’t switch underwear all the time,” Dee dismissed.

“That’s… nobody does that, Dee,” Mac said, his eyebrow furrowed.

“I don’t know what the fudge you two ant hills do. Let’s get this over with.”

“Is someone complaining?” Dennis asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No, I’m not complaining. I’m delighted to wear Charlie’s clothes. I just assumed I would only ever have to wear your clothes when I wrote that card, Dennis.” She sighed. “But-- no. I’m not complaining. I would love to wear Charlie’s lion shirt.”

“It's a good shirt,” Charlie commented.

“Then let’s go change,” Mac said, standing up. He and Dennis headed toward the men’s room.

“That used to be my shirt anyway, didn’t it?” Dennis asked once the door was closed. He unbuttoned his shirt.

“Dunno, man. Probably. I like your shirts. They’re all really soft.”

“Fabric softener,” Dennis said. “Something you’ve probably never heard of.”

“Ha. Good one. Fabric softener. I bet you keep that next to your bottle of wood hardener.” He laughed, taking his sleeveless grey tee shirt off and tossing it to Dennis.

“No-- fabric softener is a real thing, Mac. But it doesn’t matter. Aren’t you cold in these sleeveless shirts?” Dennis asked as he pulled Mac’s shirt on. “Never mind. I guess not. I can feel the sweat in the armpit.” He cringed a little.

“You complaining, bro?”

“No.” He yanked Mac’s black slacks up. They were incredibly tight around his thighs, and he could barely get them buttoned, but he managed in the end. He did up Mac’s belt, too, even though he clearly didn’t need it. 

“How do I look?” Mac asked as he buttoned up Dennis’ blue plaid button-down over his white tee shirt.

“Ridiculous,” Dennis said. “Probably not as ridiculous as me.” He looked in the mirror and paled a little bit. Maybe he could stand to lose a few pounds. Maybe he should take up jogging or start drinking vodka instead of beer or something. At least the shirt fit him fine.

“Ahh, you look great,” Mac said, grinning. “Ready?”

“I guess.”

They headed back into the bar, where Dee was standing, Charlie’s definitely-not-clean lion tee shirt and army green jacket hanging off her thin shoulders. His faded jeans were baggy on her, but she’d done his belt up tight enough that they were staying on okay.

“You two look stupid,” she commented.

“Yeah,” Dennis said. “Where’s Charlie?”

“I think he’s trying to get into my jeans,” she said. “I didn’t see since we changed in the stalls, but that’s what it sounded like.”

“Charlie?” Mac called, knocking on the ladies’ room door. “Come out, bud. It’s your turn to draw.”

It took him another minute or so. He came out with Dee’s pants sort of tied around his waist over her long-sleeved blue shirt and his grey boxer briefs. The shirt was boxy on her, but it fit Charlie kind of oddly-- it was tight around his shoulders, but the rest was kind of loose. Immediately, everybody cracked up.

“You look like the world’s worst superhero,” Frank commented. 

Charlie shuffled uncomfortably. “Yeah, well-- Mac’s pants are too small on Dennis.”

Dennis immediately stopped laughing.

“Go ahead and draw, man,” Mac said, still chuckling a little. Avoiding his friends’ eyes, Charlie drew a card.

 

“Huff gasoline and serve a customer good,” he said. “No regulars.”

“Alright,” Dee said, nodding slowly. “We can do that. We can make that work. Do you have gas around here, Charlie?”

“Who the chunk do you think you’re talking to, Dee, of course he has gas,” Mac said, chuckling a little. “It’s in the keg room. I’ll grab it.”

“But the challenge card doesn’t say how much gas to huff,” Dennis noted, picking it up to read it. “It has to be at least a couple huffs, guys. Three for Dee, and five minimum for Charlie. Sound fair?”

“Whoa whoa whoa, why do I get less?” Dee asked, crossing her arms.

Charlie went to re-tie the legs of Dee’s jeans around his waist, since the knot had slid undone. “I’m a professional, Dee. Less than five won’t get me going.”

“Yeah, come on, Dee, if you over do it we’ll have to drag you to a hospital and it’ll ruin the whole game,” Dennis said. “Three is good for you.”

“I’ll be huffing exactly as much as Charlie huffs, thanks,” she insisted.

“Alright, if that’s what you want.”

Mac came back with the gas canister, setting it on the table. “Have at it.”

Dee snatched it, popping the cap off and huffing deeply. She and Charlie passed it back and forth a few times, but by her third huff, she was already just about falling off her chair. A stupid smirk pulled on her mouth, and her eyelids drooped lazily, but she managed to stand. 

It was happy hour, so there were a few neglected customers waiting at the bar. Dennis, Frank, and Mac watched as Charlie and Dee approached them, Dee’s feet dragging.

“Hello, welcome to Paddy’s Pub, home of the pub,” she said, swaying a tiny bit. Her voice sounded pretty normal, but, ‘home of the pub’-- Dennis shook his head, frowning. 

“No, Den, we want her to fail, she’s not on our team,” Mac said, nudging Dennis. 

“It’s just pathetic. She’s better than this.”

“You want a beer?” Dee asked loudly. 

Dennis sighed, pushing his hair back. “Dunk it, Dee. You know, when we were in high school, she came home from sophomore homecoming completely blasted, and still managed to talk to our parents for a while before she went to bed. I would’ve expected better from her. Maybe you’re right, Mac. Maybe she was holding me back.”

Mac nodded knowingly, though he had never claimed that Dee was holding Dennis back. 

“She came home drunk in high school?” Frank asked. “I guess I gotta hand it to her if she could put one over on me.”

Dennis and Mac ignored him, watching Dee make her way around the bar to get the beers. She cracked them open flawlessly-- probably just muscle memory-- and set them on the table.

“What up, birches, I did it,” she said as she came back to the table.

“Man, is it even fair to make Charlie do this?” Mac asked, squirming a little. “He’s not even a bartender. He doesn’t know how to make drinks or serve customers.”

“Neither does Dee,” Dennis pointed out.

“I reject that,” Dee half-slurred.

Charlie managed, though, completely keeping his cool as he cracked the dude’s beer open and set it on the table. He wandered back to the table.

“Oh, hey, guys,” he said, sitting down. “Sup?”

“Did they win, though?” Dennis asked, eyes scrunched up. “Because Dee is clearly pretty high.”

“Win what?” Charlie asked evenly. Everyone ignored him.

“I’ll go ask,” Mac said. He headed toward the customers, grinning. “Hey, guys! Thanks for coming in tonight. Do you have any complaints about the service you’ve received?” 

“Uh, it was fine, but the guy who brought my beer has jeans tied around his waist and I can see his boxers,” the customer said.

“But were you happy with the service?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Great, that’s all I needed. Enjoy your beer. Holler when you’re ready for a second round,” Mac said over his shoulder as he headed back toward the gang’s table. “Cheesum cripe. They did it, I guess.”

“Dag nabbit,” Dennis huffed. “Fine. My turn to draw.”

 

“Endurance,” he read out loud. “Lay on the floor and let the other players, including your teammate, walk on you with shoes. No flinching or making noises.”

“I don’t remember that one,” Mac said. “What are the rules? Like on his back, or all down his legs too?”

“Look it up, Frank,” Dee said unsteadily. 

He flopped the fat Chardee Macdennis binder open and quickly found the right section. “Here we go. Players walk from the top of the person’s back to their ankles, with one foot on each leg, in as few or as many steps as they want so long as the entire span is covered. No stepping on necks.”

“Dee, you better not have heels on,” Dennis said.

“Since when do I just casually wear heels, you dum-dum?”

“You can’t expect me to keep track of your shoe preferences.”

“On the floor, Dennis, let’s go,” Frank instructed, closing the binder.

Dennis nodded once, bending down toward the floor.

“Ha! Your hip fat is like, spilling out of Mac’s pants,” Dee laughed.

“Shut the fork up, you bench. It’s just my bone structure.”

He flattened down, laying on his stomach with his head turned to the side. Dee stumbled down his body first, then Charlie, then Mac, who took care to go slow and put his whole foot down at the same time for minimal pain. Dennis’ face didn’t change. Once all three of them had finished, he stood up, stretching his shoulders a little. 

“Our card, Mac,” he said calmly. 

“Hotel yeah!”

“Charlie’s turn,” Dee said, her voice still swirly from the gasoline. 

He tugged on Dee’s shirt sleeve, which had ridden up to his elbow. “Oh, I gotta draw a card? Okay.”

“Dude, yeah, we’re playing Chardee Macdennis,” Mac said. “Did you forget?”

“Cut the kid a break, he’s high on gas,” Frank commented.

“Well-- I guess I’ll draw it,” Charlie said. He reached into the box and pulled one out. 

 

“Physical challenge: break a ceiling light with your head,” Mac read, leaning over Charlie’s arm. “This is where we do it like we’re playing chicken, right?”

“Yeah. And you can attach stuff to your head, but you can’t use your arms.” Dennis pulled Mac back over to him and leaned in close to his ear. “This is perfect, man. They’re high as kites. We have this in the bag.”

Mac nodded, grinning. “Let’s do it. Okay-- break and prepare your head, I guess. Let’s do this in the basement so we don’t have to fix it.”

Frank went with Dee and Charlie, which Mac and Dennis allowed since they were still coming down from the gasoline. Meanwhile, Dennis and Mac headed behind the bar.

“What if we put a plate on your head, and then duct tape a knife to the plate? So the plate will keep broken glass from falling on you, and the knife will break the light,” Mac suggested, turning the knife they used to cut fruit around in his hands.

“Not bad,” Dennis said. “But I think it better be your head, bro. Can you even hold me on your shoulders?”

“I got muscles, dude. I can do it,” Mac said eagerly.

“I might be too heavy,” Dennis insisted.

“Nah, you have, like, what, three percent body fat? It’ll be fine, bro. I can handle it. Real question is, can you stay in optimal shoulder-sitting position in those pants that are clearly too tight for you?”

“Yes,” Dennis said defensively.

“Okay, okay, dude. It’ll be fine. We’ll make it work. Let’s make you a paper plate helmet and tape a knife to it.”

In the end, they attached the muddler to the paper plate helmet instead of the knife. It turned out the knife was flimsy and not all that sharp, so the muddler made more sense, Dennis reasoned.

When the two of them made it downstairs, Charlie, Dee, and Frank were already waiting. Dee had a snapback on with a hammer tied to the fastener in the back of it. She was still looking kind of woozy, though, and her eyes were more than a little glassy.

“Climb from these chairs onto your teammate,” Frank instructed, turning on a big flashlight so he could turn the overhead lights off. “Get into position. On my mark, start trying to break the lights.”

Mac’s knees buckled a little bit as he tried to straighten up with Dennis on his shoulders, but, barely, they made it work. Dennis kept an eye on Dee, though-- Frank had raised them and all that, but Dennis wasn’t convinced he would actually be any amount of concerned over Dee’s safety. Really, he didn’t love the idea of his sister being high on gas and trying to break a light with a hammer while balancing on Charlie’s wimpy shoulders, but it was part of the game, and Dennis Reynolds was no quitter.

“Everyone ready?” Frank asked from the floor.

“Yep,” Dennis said, trying to ignore how smushed his balls were from the combination of Mac’s tight pants and being shoved against Mac’s neck. 

“Born ready,” Dee said loudly.

“Okay. One, two, three-- break the lights!”

Holding onto Mac’s head, Dennis jabbed his muddler-plate-hat toward the light. He heard a little crack, but he couldn’t tell if it was his light or Dee’s over all the stomping and banging and the loud clanging of the water thing and heating stuff in the basement-- he turned his head toward Dee, trying to get a good look at her, to make sure she wasn’t horribly injured or dead or whatever. But the brotherly caution cost him too much time. Dee broke her light, sending the pieces in a messy cascade through the dimly lit air. They clattered and clinked to the floor. 

“I did it! We did it, Charlie!” Dee shouted, all but falling off Charlie’s shoulders. She yanked her hammer hat off and threw it down enthusiastically. “Ha! Dennis! You loser!”

Awkwardly, he slid down from Mac’s shoulders. Ripped the duct tape off his forehead, letting the plate and muddler hat fall. “Dump it,” he sighed. “You were moving around too much, Mac.”

“I was trying to balance,” Mac argued. “I didn’t want to drop you, bro. Frank this stupid game. I told you guys it was a bad idea. Nothing good ever comes of Chardee Macdennis. Cheesum cripe.”

Dennis exhaled tightly. Rubbed at his forehead where the duct tape had been. The gang headed upstairs.

“My turn,” Mac said once Dee was done with her gas-high-induced-gloating. He reached for a card.

 

“...Dennis,” he huffed.

“What?” Dennis asked, a little annoyed with Mac’s tone.

“No, I was using your name as a swear instead of the normal d-word,” Mac explained. “It’s a physical challenge. Eat all the makeup in Dee’s purse.”

“You’re gonna get sick,” Frank said. 

“Makeup isn’t toxic,” Dennis said. “You can do it, man.”

“What if Dee has expensive makeup in Dee’s purse?” Dee asked. “This is kind of a worse punishment for me than it is for you, now that I think about it.”

“Then Dee can plan a trip to the makeup store tomorrow, ‘cause Mac’s gonna eat it all up,” Mac said. “And it’s a worse punishment for me, without a doubt. You think I want to munch on your eyeliner? Just hand it over.”

She pouted a little, but went to get her purse. On the way, she ended up having to serve another round of beers to the people from before, as well as pour a shot and open a beer for a new customer-- but eventually, she made it back to the table with her purse. She handed it to Dennis.

“Okay, we got a lip gloss-- Dee, for glob’s sake, it’s 2018, why are you still wearing lip gloss?-- and we have powder, and concealer. Does chapstick count?”

“Yes,” Charlie interjected loudly. “Eat the chapstick. It’s the best part. It’s got nutrients.”

“I’m gonna need to like, put the powder in water and drink it,” Mac said, frowning. “I don’t think I can physically eat powder.”

“You can have a shot of water,” Frank said. “A whole glass, that’s cheating.”

“Fine.”

Frank went to get the allotted shot of water while Dennis laid out the tube of lip gloss, the chapstick, the pressed powder, and the concealer. Luckily for Dee, they were drugstore brands. Luckily for Mac, the concealer was nearly empty.

“Whenever you’re ready, dude,” Dennis said, touching his arm.

Mac nodded. Took a deep breath. Started squeezing the lip gloss onto his tongue.

“Ew, shelf, it tastes like plastic,” he whined as he finished swallowing the first mouthful. “It’s so globby.”

“You can do it, Mac, keep going,” Dennis encouraged.

He squeezed the rest of the tube onto his tongue, grimacing a little. He washed it down with a gulp of beer. 

“One down, good job, man,” Dennis said.

“How was it?” Charlie asked.

“Not great, Charlie,” Mac answered loudly, nose still wrinkled up. He grabbed the concealer. “How do I even get this stuff out?”

“Let’s try to tap it onto a dish, and you can lick it off,” Dennis suggested, grabbing the bowl of peanuts and dumping it onto the ground. He swept out the shell crumbs with his hand before picking up the tube of concealer-- same shade he wore, he noted. He tossed the lid and its attached applicator aside and started banging the opening against the bowl. He got a few good globs out, but it was mostly empty and kind of dry, so it wasn’t much.

“Ugh, okay, that’ll be easier, at least,” Mac said as Dennis handed him the bowl. Cringing, he licked up the concealer, some of it staying on his lips-- again, he washed it down with beer, but when he opened his mouth to exhale after, he still had a ton of concealer on his tongue. “That tasted even worse.”

“You can do it,” Dennis insisted. “We have to beat them.”

“Alright, alright.” He twisted the chapstick all the way out and took a bite of it, grimacing as he slowly swallowed it whole. By this point, most of the patrons of the pub were definitely kind of staring at the gang. But then, anyone who made a habit of visiting Paddy’s was probably used to grosser antics.

“Only one thing left,” Dennis said once Mac finished with the chapstick.

“It wasn’t bad, though, right, dude? It’s cherry, that’s the good flavor,” Charlie said.

“The taste wasn’t the worst thing ever,” Mac said, reaching for his beer. “The really gross thing is that Dee has rubbed that all over her mouth. That’s what I’m having a hard time with.”

“Oh, you shove your tongue down my twin brother’s throat constantly, I have the same DNA,” Dee said dismissively.

“We don’t-- what are you talking about, you brunch?” Dennis asked, wrinkling his nose. “Gross.”

“Whatever,” Dee said, speech still sloppy from the gas. “Mac, my face has been all over that powder-- gonna chicken out yet?”

“I did not eat lip gloss, chapstick, and concealer just to give up before the last thing,” Mac said, setting his beer bottle down loudly. Using the chapstick cap, he scratched the powder out of its pan and into the shot glass. Some of it kind of dissolved and broke up, but it was mostly still in chunks. He tossed the shot back, cringing.

“Eugh-- that was the worst one.”

“But you did it,” Dennis said eagerly. “We’ll be taking that card. Oh, look, I guess we won this round.”

“We’re only one behind you,” Charlie argued. “We’re gonna beat you. We’re gonna crush you.”

“We’re gonna crush you,” Mac countered, looking a little green around the edges. He threw back the rest of his beer to get the makeup taste out of his mouth.

“We’ll see about that,” Charlie said as he reached for a card.

 

“Monster farmer, it’s the racoon one,” Dee whined once she saw the card.

“Catch a racoon on the bar property, all play,” Charlie said, putting the card down.

“That’s a nice little raccoon you drew, Charlie,” Frank commented. “I like it.”

“Thanks, man. His name’s Robin. I think he lives behind the dumpster or maybe in the dumpster. I see him all the time. But if we catch any we gotta let them go, ‘cause raccoons are just cats with ugly hands.”

“That’s not… that’s not true, Charlie,” Dennis said, setting his beer down. 

“Well, yeah, it is. I think I would know better than you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mac said. “What if there isn’t a raccoon on the property?”

“Oh, there is,” Charlie insisted. “Believe me, there is. He’s a wily son of a bike, but he’s there. We’ll see him. Someone will get him. Or he’ll get us.”

“Okay,” Dennis exhaled. “I guess we have to catch a raccoon.” He finished his beer. 

“One two three go,” Charlie said all at once, standing up and hurling himself away. 

“Oh grape, what’s happening,” Dee said as she followed him.

“Okay,” Mac said, turning to Dennis. “We need a strategy.”

“A net? Do we have a net?”

“Yeah, but we need to bribe the raccoon out too,” Mac said. “I know it’s not a cat, but it comes if you have cat food. That’s for sure. Let’s see if Charlie’s got some hiding around here.”

“I think he does,” Dennis said. “In the bottom drawer of the office desk-- I think I saw it once.”

“Perfect. Let’s lure this son of a bridge out.”

Neither team’s plan was efficient, safe, or particularly well-thought-out, but in the end, Charlie and Dee prevailed, sending both teams to the next level at the same time once again.


	4. spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> content warning: light sex allusions, nothing too explicit.

Level Three: Spirit

“Only two spirit cards to win,” Dee said, wiping the last of the ketchup from the raccoon situation off her face. At some point during the chaos of the last challenge, Mac had accidentally gotten raccoon poop on Dennis’ pants, and a truce had been made, allowing everyone to take off their teammates’ pants-- now the four of them sat around pantless, with the four pairs of pants piled up on a nearby bar stool. “That means we’re going to end this ridiculous tying streak once and for all, somehow. Tonight, two of us are going home champions-- and two of us aren’t going home at all.”

“Wait, wait, wait… what the fuck? Why wouldn’t the other two people get to go home?” Mac asked, holding a hand up to stop Dee. At some point, Mac had unbuttoned the cuffs of Dennis’ sleeves so he could roll them up. He never buttoned them back up when he unrolled them, so now the blue flannel flapped around as he gestured, much like the buttonless sleeves of Charlie’s beat up green jacket did all the time. “If me and Dennis lose, are you gonna kill us or some shit?”

“Oh, come on, Dee, you wouldn’t kill me, I’m your brother.”

“Okay, first of all, Dennis, you once threatened to turn me into luggage,” Dee insisted, crossing her arms emphatically.

“No, that’s just not true-- from a facts standpoint, it just isn’t true. I simply commented that you might be more useful if I skinned you and turned your skin into luggage,” Dennis argued.

“Ew, gross, dude, that’s fucked up.” Mac shook his head, picking his drink up to take a sip.

“Obviously it’s gross, Mac, I didn’t do it.”

“Quit stalling,” Frank interjected.

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “Let’s get it over with. If you guys are going to make the waitress scream at me again and call me gross and ugly I wanna get it over with.”

“Odds are you won’t get that card again anyway,” Mac pointed out.

“Whatever’s going to happen, let’s just draw already,” Dee said. “It’s my turn.” She reached for a card and frowned at her brother’s handwriting. “You do your g’s and y’s so fruity, Dennis. So many loops going on. It says to find something from the dumpster to wear on your body for the rest of the game.”

 

“That’s homophobic,” Mac claimed. 

“Wearing garbage on your body is homophobic? You must really hate Charlie, then,” Dee said, setting the card down.

“Hey, I don’t wear literal garbage on my body, just sometimes people throw away neat stuff by mistake,” Charlie argued.

“There’s some good stuff there sometimes,” Frank agreed.

“It’s not gay for a man to have neat handwriting,” Dennis said over Charlie and Frank.

“I didn’t say it was gay, you dip, I said it was fruity,” Dee countered.

“Can we just do the challenge so we can move on, guys?” Mac said loudly.

“Fine,” Dee huffed. “Let’s all go out to the dumpster.”

“Wait, why do we have to go?” Dennis asked.

“Because I don’t trust you,” Dee said. “You’re going to cheat while I’m gone. So we all go.”

“Are you refusing to do the challenge if we don’t go with you? Are you forfeiting the card if we don’t go with you?” Mac asked eagerly.

“I’m forfeiting dick,” Dee insisted. “Just, you guys, come with me.”

“No,” Mac said, crossing his arms. “Go by yourself. Go by yourself, or you forfeit the card.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” Dennis said.

“Charlie, come on, back me up,” Dee pleaded.

“Uh-- I’ll watch ‘em and make sure they don’t cheat, I guess,” Charlie said. 

She sighed loudly. “God dammit, you guys. Fine. I’ll be right back.”

“So you three gonna cheat while she’s gone?” Frank asked once she was out the back door.

“No, dude, we can’t, Charlie will tell her,” Mac said, sipping his drink.

“Nah, you wouldn’t narc, would you Charlie?”

“I think I have to,” Charlie said, eyes narrowing a little in thought. “I think-- that’s the rules, right?”

“No, dude, you can cheat in Chardee Macdennis, you just can’t get caught,” Mac reminded him.

“Besides, narc-ing is Mac’s thing,” Dennis pointed out, smirking. “Ronnie the Rat.” Mac nudged him hard in the shoulder, scowling a little.

“No, I know that, but this time. ‘Cause I told her. Wait-- I don’t want you sons of bitches to cheat either, you’re working against me! Yeah, I’m gonna tell Dee if you cheat.” Charlie nodded resolutely. 

“We’re not going to cheat, Charlie,” Dennis said. “I hope people see my sister, though. She’s wearing Charlie’s thrift store shirts and no pants, and she has one shitty braid in her hair, and she’s rooting through a dumpster in an alley. Also, she still has some dried ketchup on her ear. I didn’t want to tell her.”

Mac laughed. “You’re right, dude. That’s pretty funny.”

“Yeah.”

Dee came back in then, a lime peel tucked through a loop in her braid. “This good enough for you dicks?”

“Yes,” Dennis said, pushing the game card across the table to his sister’s spot. 

“Ha. One more card and I’m officially the better twin,” Dee said, grinning as she accepted it. “How’s it feel to be the worst, Dennis?”

“You can answer that for yourself when Mac and I are shoving your arm down the garbage disposal,” Dennis responded, raising an eyebrow.

“Ew, dude, no, I’m not gonna do that,” Mac said.

“We’ll see. For now-- my turn.” Dennis reached for a card.

 

“Thirty minutes in hell,” he read, brow furrowed. “Your team gets locked in the worst stall in the men’s bathroom for thirty minutes.”

“Ha! Gross! Not the handicapped one,” Dee said cheerfully.

Dennis sighed. “Okay. Which one is grossest, though? The one on the other side of the glory hole? That one has stains on the toilet.”

“No, the one closest to the door is the grossest one,” Charlie suggested. “ ‘Cause it has that mysterious sticky spot that won’t go away and it’s the one that was clogged real bad last week.”

“Alright, I guess that makes sense,” Mac said, nose wrinkling a little. “Let’s… go in, I guess.”

The five of them headed into the men’s bathroom, ignoring the guy peeing in one of the urinals, and Mac and Dennis went into the chosen stall.

“We’ll be checking in randomly to make sure you guys are still in there,” Frank said. “I’m not gonna sit in the bathroom and watch old guys piss in the urinals for half an hour.” He shut the door. “You latch that shit, fellas.”

Dennis nudged the latch closed, leaning against the wall next to the toilet paper dispenser. Mac leaned against the opposite wall. They listened to the guy who’d been peeing finish and leave.

“He didn’t wash his hands,” Mac commented.

“Nope,” Dennis said.

They just kind of looked at each other for a minute. It was a bathroom, so of course it didn’t smell great, but Dennis was thankful that nobody had recently taken a noticeable dump, at least. He could hear the pipes. The bar was old when he, Mac, and Charlie bought it, and that was around fifteen years ago now-- it could use a lot of work. Especially the men’s bathroom, Dennis thought, noticing that you could actually see the sticky spot if you looked really hard. He looked at it for a moment, but then his eyes turned back toward Mac-- who was still looking at him.

“Den,” Mac said.

“Yeah.”

“Do you… are you gonna tell if I take your flannel off? It’s kind of hot in here, man.”

“No,” Dennis said. “Go ahead. ‘Course I’m not going to tell. I don’t want to lose either.”

Mac nodded, unbuttoning the shirt to take it off. Dennis watched him hang it up on the coat hook. There they were, high school buddies, standing in a cramped stall in a shitty bar wearing nothing but plaid boxers (Mac’s grey, Dennis’ blue and green) and each others’ tee shirts. And shoes, of course. Sneakers, on Dennis’ part, and black boots on Mac’s. They looked ridiculous. The whole situation was ridiculous. So ridiculous that Dennis started chuckling a little bit.

Mac laughed too. Of course Mac laughed too. Dennis could hardly smile for a second without Mac mirroring. 

(Not that he minded. Not that he had anything against seeing Mac’s soft eyes light up with happiness.)

“I’m pretty buzzed, man,” Dennis said, the ghost of laughter in his blue eyes and the small creases at the corners of his lips.

“Me too,” Mac said.

For another handful of seconds, they started at each other. Boundaries weren’t something they did well. Consistency in the way they treated each other-- that was another thing they didn’t do well. By anyone’s standards. But when you’re shut in a tiny stall for twenty-eight more minutes with a guy you sometimes (often) mess around with, it’s kind of hard to not end up at least making out.

So he took the half-step necessary to close the space between himself and Mac, and he didn’t break eye contact until he established lip contact.

Since Dennis had already put it on the record that he was somewhat intoxicated, he felt like he could kiss Mac, really kiss Mac, for as long as he wanted. He could brush it off later, if Mac dared to bring it up. Remind Mac that he’d been drunk. 

(He wasn’t drunk.)

And since he had that cloak of plausible deniability already, he allowed himself a few more liberties. Putting his hands on the sides of Mac’s face, thumbs softly brushing against his dark stubble, for one. Letting Mac touch his ass, for another. Kissing, just kissing, without getting dicks involved, for a third. 

(If you get dicks involved, it can be written off that you were just really horny. If you’re just kissing, that’s pretty fucking gay.)

(If you’re just kissing, it’s kind of hard to pretend it means something other than this: you like being close to the person, you want to feel their body against yours, you want to explore them. Sure, sex can mean all that. But it doesn’t have to. Sex can just be out of boredom or empty horniness. Kissing can’t.)

(That’s the catch.)

It was a little warm in the bathroom, Mac was right-- but neither of them was wearing much, so it was okay. It definitely wasn’t hot enough to discourage them.

Mac smelled like beer. Mac always smelled like beer. And cheap hair gel, of course. And something a little bit girly, this time, Dennis noticed as they kissed-- Dee’s makeup, he realized. Specifically, the cherry chapstick. Really, he didn’t need something of his sister’s involved when he was trying to kiss someone. 

“Gross, are you two making out?”

Dennis yanked away from Mac, startled. He hadn’t heard his sister come in.

“No,” he called from inside the stall. He wiped his mouth. A glance passed between them; a shared secret. A secret joke. A joke. Making out with your roommate in a bathroom stall is a joke. Drunkenly marrying your roommate on a date, that's a joke too. A hilarious joke.

“Sure sounded like it. And your feet were all close. Anyway. I just came in to make sure you didn’t leave the stall. Carry on. See you in eighteen minutes.” 

The door slammed shut.

Mac wiped his mouth too, slower. Almost hesitantly. Chuckled a tiny bit. More just a single puff of air than a chuckle, though, really. “I’ve never gone from having a semi to being completely flaccid so fast in my life.”

Dennis cracked up laughing without even realizing it was happening until it was happening. “That’s one of her skills, man. She always knows right when to walk in, to… to ruin something good.”

The back of his neck burned. Either from how warm it was, or the embarrassment. He decided it was because of how warm it was. Yeah. That was probably best.

Before he could say anything else, Mac was closing his arms around him, kissing him again. After a moment of hesitation, Dennis went along with it. Really, what the hell else were they going to do in there? Play never have I ever?

He liked how Mac’s stubble felt. Hated how it felt when he himself had stubble-- hated the sound of it if he scratched his face-- but it was nice on Mac. 

So they kissed for a while, maybe several minutes, and Dennis worked hard to keep thoughts out of his head.

‘Good’, he realized. That’s why he was embarrassed. Out loud, he admitted that he liked this. That he meant it. That he wasn’t joking or just putting up with it for Mac.

Didn’t matter, he shoved at his mind. Didn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. He tried to give Mac more of himself, to put more into what they were doing, to focus on the physical so he could ignore the mental-- he moved his lips away from Mac’s, moved them down his stubbly jaw, locked them against Mac’s neck. Realized what he was doing, realized it would leave a mark-- a mark which he couldn’t blame on anyone else, since it was practically just the five of them and a couple surly old regulars in the bar. He moved back to Mac’s lips, hickey avoided.

His hands moved around Mac’s back, feeling the contours of his shoulder blades through Dennis’ soft tee shirt. He felt Mac’s hands move up from his waist to the back of his head, into his hair-- what was up with the guy’s obsession with Dennis’ hair? It wasn’t particularly soft or anything. Just normal hair.

Again, he tried to shut his mind up. Cursed himself for not even being able to enjoy this thing that he was risking so much for. What the fuck was the point of the risk if he couldn’t even enjoy it? 

He felt Mac’s hands make their way back down his back. Grabbing his ass for a solid minute or two. Moving around to the front, finding the waistband--

Dennis pulled away, breathing a little heavy, wiping his face. 

“How much time do we have left?”

“Uh--” Mac blinked. Dennis tried very hard not to look down. If Mac had a semi before, he was probably all the way hard now. Round two had been further away from the slow and mushy spectrum and closer to the getting dicks involved side of things, after all.

“Uh,” Mac said again. “I don’t have my phone, dude.”

Dennis remembered he had a watch. Looked at it. “Six minutes,” he said, his voice not sounding right.

Mac nodded several times, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright. Cool. Cool.”

Dennis was almost annoyed. It’s over, he wanted to say. Move on. 

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, careful to avoid the sticky spot. He didn’t have his phone, either. Stupid. They should have brought their phones. Now all they had to do was stare at each other or avoid staring at each other. Of course, the one damn time he isn’t on a team with Dee, he gets the 30 minutes in hell card. He and Dee would have handled this amazingly. They would have just stood there, laughing about some dumb thing or another, making fun of Charlie, scheming against Frank, completely ignoring each other, anything. But instead-- he ended up with the one person he had a questionable kissing relationship with. Fucking figured. 

He glanced at his watch again. Five minutes. Five minutes five minutes five minutes. He stole a glance at Mac’s boxers. Looked like he’d gone back to normal. Fucking good.

“I really hope we win,” Mac said eventually, putting Dennis’ flannel back on.

“Me too,” Dennis said. “It all comes down to the next card, though. We each have one. It’s anybody’s game.”

If he’d been with Dee, Dennis thought bitterly, they would have come up with a way to cheat their way to victory by now. They would have maybe used the thirty minutes as a brainstorming session. They would be coming out of the bathroom with the most foolproof plan in the world. The gang had had their split-the-twins-up fun. Next time, Dennis decided, he would be rigid. The Golden Geese would take flight again.

“Alright, you two, time’s up, you can come out,” Frank said eventually, shoving through the door.

“Thank God,” Dennis said under his breath, refusing to look Mac in the eye. They unlocked the stall door and headed out.

“You two boners ready for the next card?” Dee asked, adding the ‘thirty minutes in hell’ card to Mac and Dennis’ pile. 

“Yes,” Dennis said, sitting down.

“My turn,” she said.

It wasn’t, Dennis half-realized, but whatever. He didn’t feel like saying anything. He kind of just wanted the game to be over so he could go home and take a shower and tangle himself up in the duvet of his huge soft bed. Even though it was barely eight p.m.

Dee pulled the card out of the box. 

 

“Emotional battery,” she read. “Ten minutes.”

“Good,” Dennis said smugly. “I don’t have to just watch Mac and Charlie have all the fun this time. I get to actually participate.”

“Whatever, loser. I can take it,” Dee insisted.

“Sit on the emotional battery stool, then,” Charlie said.

She went to sit down on the designated stool, and the four guys crowded around her. 

“Okay,” Frank said, looking down at his watch. “Time starts… now.”

“Your neck is way too long,” Mac said. “It’s ridiculous. And your head is ugly. It’s a wonder your stupid twig neck can even hold your ugly face up. I know you have a unibrow if you don’t pluck it. Remember the acne you had in high school? You were a pizza face. I can still see the scars on your cheeks. Also, you still wear lip gloss even though it’s way out of trend, apparently.”

“Is that the best you can do?” Dee asked, lazily raising an eyebrow.

“You have the shrill voice of a female politician,” Dennis said, his eyes icy as they regarded her. “Your nails are brittle. You pretend you keep them short because you like them that way, but I know you really just can’t grow them. And your skin, it’s somehow oily and covered in dry patches at the same time. It’s disgusting. That’s the real reason you can’t get a boyfriend. You’re scaly. They come close enough to realize it, they’re gone.”

“Gross, Dennis,” Mac said, making a face. Dee’s eyes remained motionless.

He went on, holding her gaze as he jabbed harder and harder and brought up worse and worse memories. Five or six times throughout his speech, he wondered if he crossed the line-- wondered if maybe it was okay for Mac and Charlie to dunk on her, but maybe he should stop, because he knew more of her failures and low moments, and also because he was her brother. He was supposed to be her ally. But the name of the game was emotional battery, and she didn’t even flinch as he berated her, so he continued on, filling up most of the time. 

“Uh-- I’ll take it from here,” Mac eventually said, nudging Dennis away. Dee was somehow still completely composed.

“Your perfume always smells like plastic,” Mac said. “And you put on way too much of it. Every time you walk past me, I’m like, shit, that sure was Dee. And your hair is so badly dyed, you can always see the layer of brown underneath. It looks like shit. You look like shit. And your neck is so goddamn long-- I already said that. Uh… your makeup tasted bad. I think the concealer was expired. What kind of dumb bitch keeps expired shit in her purse?”

“Your elbows are disgusting,” Dennis added.

“Uh, time,” Frank said. “Deandra, you win.”

She straightened her shoulders, smirking. “Asswipes. I’ll be smashing your game pieces now.”

Dennis realized all at once that they’d lost. He’d been on the losing team for the first time ever. Rage filled his chest. He shoved a bar stool over. All Mac's fault. Had to be.

“God dammit,” Mac huffed.

“Hey, we actually won,” Charlie said, going to high five Dee. “I’ve never won. We actually won! Hell yeah!”

“Fuck yes we did,” Dee said, going to grab Dennis’ game piece. He swatted it out of her hand, sending the Ken doll clattering to the floor.

“You can be a little bitch baby all you want, asshole, but I still won and I’m still going to smash your game piece.”

He shook his head, slowly, jaw set tight. He glared hard at her as she and Charlie started stomping on his and Mac’s game pieces. 

“I told you nothing good ever comes from Chardee Macdennis,” Mac said, sighing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote out all the shit dennis says to dee, but it got rlly dark and kind of ended things on an icky note, so i got rid of all the intense shit from dennis and focused more on the hallf-assed insults Poor Rejected Mac makes instead lol... anyway thanks for reading!!! follow me at golden-geese.tumblr.com!!!!!!


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